Extra-Ordinary
by littlebabyturtlelove
Summary: Bee wasn't the only one to crash down to Earth before the others and sneak his way into Earth's society, becoming the Guardian of a young human. Now Optimus Prime must managed to some how endure his encounter with a young college student who wants nothing to do with him but is forced to keep him. Can the two survive the hell the other will bring to them?
1. Chapter 1

**_I apologize for any spelling and/or Grammar you may find in this chapter._**

 _Before time began, there was the Cube. We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds, and fill them with life._

 _That is how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony. But for all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil. And so began the war. A war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death._

 _And the Cube was lost to the far reaches of space. We scattered across the galaxy, hoping to find it and rebuild our home. Searching every star, every world._

 _And just when all hope seemed lost, message of a new discovery drew us to an unknown planet called, Earth._

 _But we were already too late._

 _Now, we move to the planet, hoping that what was stolen can somehow be retrieved. And the beings that inhabit this planet never learn of our existence._

 _ **0000 Beginnings 000**_

It was the day no young girl waits her entire life for.

No it wasn't the day I would stroll down the aisle to the sap I would spend the rest of my life with.

No it wasn't about to go buy some frill-tastic prom dress.

I'm not going out to get manicures or curly my hair.

It was not the day I created my fantastic AI system that would one day protect the world from devastation, earning my Nobel Peace prize award right before I was crowned eternal war lord of earth. (Cause that may or may not be on my bucket list.)

My parents weren't even buying me a flat screen Tv with surround sound.

(If anything, I would much rather just go home to watch NCIS or something stupid like that. Hell, I would even take miserable housewives over this.)

Instead I was stepping out of my dad's big, old, mud encrusted semi. Dustin is what my Dad named it.

Dustin the Semi.

Cause when we drive down those dusty highways, what sneaks through the cracks of the windows? Dust. We get dust in our eyes. DUSTIN.

Makes it sound like quite the character, doesn't it?

"This is it." Like a soldier returning home from years of war, my Dad titled his head upward, eyes gleaming with a quiet promise. He extended his hand out past his chest, waving it. "Behold." He murmured to the vast sea of fellow semi trucks. "The beauty."

"The stench." I swallowed a gag.

"The stench." He agreed dreamily. Producing a toothpick from his pocket, he clenched his teeth around it. "You ready?" He shouldn't be allowed to have toothpicks. That causes him to crave meat in the middle of the night.

Like, full on meat. He will go to the store, buy a whole woppin' two pounds of meat and eat it, raw or not.

But don't blame me when he gets salmonella and keels over.

I once saw him shred through an entire bag, his teeth pointed and his eyes red. Or, maybe that was just a dream I had after I read Twilight as a young girl and secretly hoped my neighbor Edwin was a blood sucking monster.

But the meat thing is true. My Dad keeps a secret storage of it in the basement for last minute Barbeques, cause that is the only good kind of party he can throw; A Barbeque consisting of large piles of meat and no beverages.

Not that I judge. You be you Dad.

"Mom said you shouldn't munch on those anymore." I say.

"Your mother also shouldn't go out on a full moon, sit on the roof, and howl at the dogs in the neighborhood. But she does."

I reached into his pocket to snatch his jar of toothpicks, labeled _Nutrition._ "She only does that every other month, not every single time she eats a toothpick."

He attempted to snatch it back, but I punted it. It crashed into one of the windows of the semi, shattering it.

"Scatter!" my dad bolted in the other direction. I slipped onto my face, rolling behind the nearest trashcan before I ninja-ed my way under a few Semi's. Regrouping a few minutes later, we glanced around, silently nodding that we were in the clear and no one saw that.

My dad patted my back, "If any one asks, we only just got here."

Wasn't going to say that people would probably be able to figure out it was us through the toothpicks that probably covered that Semi's seat, and instead nodded my head.

"Right."

"So-" my old man attempted to play every casual once more. "Excited?"

"Dad, " I said clasped his hands and looking him in the eyes, "I'd rather shave myself bald over getting a truck."

"So that is a yes then?"

"Dad no."

"Let's find Jim."

"I don't want to find Jim." He was tugging me on the arm before I could scamper away.

Jim was a buddy that apparently was going to steal us a deal today. A deal that would have me going home with one of these pedestrian crushers. Cause that is what I want to do every morning at school. Just drive a semi truck into the college parking lot, taking up at least 10 spaces all to myself. Thus causing the student body to hate me and throw eggs at my face.

And that happens. It's a Friday tradition. The teachers allow it because it allows us to bound as a student body.

Yeah, I'd like to make that a daily occurrence.

If you can't detect the sarcasm in that you might want to see someone. Preferable a doctor. Or some shady guy under a bridge who may or may not have a track record. I won't judge.

"There is still plenty of time for us to head to a different dealership and get something smaller." I reminded him.

"Only the best for my little angel." (Then why are we here?)

"The best would be a mustang or something. Something sporty. Or, Y'know, something I wouldn't have to use an entire light for just turn." I say.

"You won't take an entire light if you practiced."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure it would only take me running over 7 old ladies before I become a professional at it." I say, "I'll have each of them line up, and they will all be 50 points each. 200 hundred if I get two at the same time."

"Glad you are having fun with this baby girl." He patted my head.

I stopped walking and threw up my hands, "Sarcasm is a foreign language to you, isn't it?"

Marching through the rows of trucks, it didn't take long for us to spot a little hut kind of building seated right in the center of this circus show. It screamed, _home of a single man_.

"Emmett!" my father kicked at his door. "Come out here and meet my baby girl."

Emmett appeared, crawling out of his hole to hiss at the light known as the sun. I kind of wish he started to sparkle or something, but at the same time, I really didn't; cause then that would give proof that vampires actually sparkle. Thus also proving that is was possible for a dead thing to somehow make a baby with a living thing.

And I feel like people would get super weird ideas with that.

Emmett extended out his hand, "Lewis." They shook hands, bumping their elbows and head-butting the others forehead.

They cheered when they realized the other was bleeding.

I wondered if it was a truckers greeting ritual. Probably just an Emmett and my dad ritual.

Or… a possible mutual vampire ritual? I may or may not have a problem with this.

"So, where is she?" Emmett asked.

Then they turned to me. I struck a pose of anguish, hoping to subtly convey that if we didn't start making sense on my choice of vehicle, at least 8 people would die before I made it home tonight.

"Hi." He waved.

"Go to hell." I bowed. Now, take offence to that and kick us off your property. Then banish us forever when you realize we were the ones that broke one of the windows on the Semi in the back.

But instead he laughed like I complimented him. Which couldn't be right because I was also holding up my middle finger.

Did truckers- possible vampires- not know what this means?

"So what are we looking for today Lewis?" Emmett asked. They were moving past me and down the steps.

"Something with a good engine and miles preferably." My dad replied

I stood in a bewildered silence, hand in the hair, legs starting to ache.

And… so much for subtle.

Falling back, I slithered after them, muttering curses and incantations for their lives to forever be filled with doom.

I liked talking about engines and tires. I did, really. I worked with my Dad in his maintenance shop since I was little. In fact, I got stuck in a tire once and my Uncles rolled me down the road into a flower shop.

I learned I was allergic to pollen that day. I think I also broke my arm. I can't remember after my Dad came barreling down like a beast, screaming some battle cry and wielding an Axe of vengeance for his fallen child.

Needless to say, I went to the hospital with my Uncles that day, me to get a cast, and them to fix up their pulverized faces.

Meaning that somewhere in that strange story I somehow learned my way around the vehicle world. In fact, I would love nothing more than to build my own car from scratch. That would be fantastic.

My second uncle is doing that right now.

"So what is the total number of Semi's if you get something today Lewis?' Emmett asked.

"Four." My dad said with pride. Translation; we would be going home with our 4th Semi if Emmett showed us something that Dad both liked and had the money for.

Dustin, Git-r-Done, and The Truckinator.

We owned a few cars besides that. Some vans, a few run down sports cars. My Dad had an eye for cars. With the giant chunk of land my Grandpa gave to him for inheritance, he definitely had the money for it.

But almost all of the cars we had were all in the hands of my Dad and his brothers. All who which are driving to many different locations throughout the day. I basically had to walk everywhere or take the bus to get places.

Ain't that ridiculous? Your family own at least 15 cars, but you can't even seem to find the time to get to use at least one.

So when I say, "Hey dad, I want my own vehicle to get around in." It does not mean I want a colossal gas-guzzler! I would even be willing to take something that is super small, sounds horrible, and probably only has a few months to live!

It would be like on of those tragic love stories where you know one of the love interests are going to die but you read all the way to the end anyway because it is tragically beautiful.

…And you know, in that case it would be a car.

You could call it, _The Car-book. The Tires of a Car. The Horn. In the Arms of an Engine._

What a story that would be, am I right?

I would most likely mourn over it for at least a week before I took it apart and turned its spare parts into something else. Like a toaster. My car would live on in our son, the toaster.

"I'd name him Bartholomew." I concluded to myself.

"What was that?" Emmett asked over his shoulder. Oh yeah, these two were still here.

"Nothing." I waved it off. "Uh…I forget to say Hi before. Hi Emmett." I nodded in greeting.

"Hi there. Nicolas was it?" he inquired with a friendly smile. My teeth grinded together at the name. _Nicolas._ "Your old man has told me a lot about you."

I respond with a dark laugh, "I almost consider that sweet. Especially considering it is a horrible name."

"It isn't a bad name." My dad frowned at me.

" _Nicolas Extra-ordinary Cater_." I recite. That was my full name. My parents thought I was a boy the first 30 minutes of my life and named me as such. Should say a lot since they didn't bother to just take a gander between my legs and put two and two together.

Or I dunno, listen to the doctor when he screams, "IT"S A GIRL! A FEMALE! X AND Y CHROMOSOME CHILD RIGHT HERE! GET IT WHY IT'S SOBBING LIKE A BANSHEE!"

...Or is it XX chromosome? I was never good at science.

Anyway, if that isn't enough, take a second look at my middle name.

And I'm not even extraordinary, I'm Extra-ordinary. My old man is as dumb a brick and couldn't spell and for some reason added some weird – in between the words and make it extra-ordinary.

Blinking a few times, a blissful ignorance on my old man's face, he shrugged, "I don't see anything wrong with it." He sniffed.

"…" I opened then closed my mouth, shaking my head at him. One day old man you might forget to lock you door before going to bed. And when that happens, I will guarantee I'll be there, knife in my hands, death in my eyes.

Morning headline, _Young girl murders Father over long term hostility concerning her harebrained name._

"Lets. Just. Get. This. Over. With." I forced a smile.

"Sure thing pumpkin."

Emmett lead us through what seemed like a never ending sea of semi's. I had never seen so many in my life and it kind of horrified me. Is this what hell looks like?

"What the hell!?" Emmett suddenly burst into a sprint, his face turning red with rage. Watching him, we glanced nervously at each other when he approached the broken windowed Semi from earlier. "HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!"

"Ooh." My father winced. "Now who could have done that?" He hissed.

Emmett was throwing off his hat, horror sweeping over his face. He looked so vulnerable suddenly. His world was crashing around him. "Why would someone do this?"

"I don't know man. Kids these days." My Dad was saying, motioning for me to head to the next one as fast as possible. "The stuff they do to seem cool."

"But Old Frank here was innocent." He dropped to his knees. "He never did nothin' to nobody!"

"I know Emmett. I know." My dad consoled, glancing around. "Hey, listen. How about I fix this guy up, huh? For free even. I hate seeing a good car like this so blatantly and possibly accidentally messed up like this."

"Really?" Emmett gawked at him. "You'd really do that?"

"Of course."

"Whoa…" Emmett brushed his nose. "Thanks Lewis. That is real nice of ya."

"Anything for a friend. Now come on." He pulled him to his feet. "You don't take another look at this car alright? Don't stress yourself over it or nothing. I'll have my boys come pick it up when I get home, we'll take it back to my shop, fix 'em up and have 'em back before you know it." I had never seen my dad maneuver someone away from something so quickly. "So don't go looking inside alright? I want you to not even think about it till I can clean it out."

"What?' Emmett frowned.

"I mean- _fix it up."_ He corrected with wild eyes. "Oh look! Look at this big fella. Who is this one?" he motioned to the next Semi.

"Oh." Emmett composed himself. "Got this one a month ago. Nice coating, but a slow engine to be honest."

My Dad was hand signaling for me to start up some conversation and fast. I fumbled, "Oh uh- Y-You sell these often?"

Emmett nodded. "A new one every day. Or every few days depending on weather."

How do people like driving these things around? You are so far off the ground!

My dad sniffed suddenly, "Seems like only yesterday I was buying my first Semi."

"Those were the days." Emmett agreed. "But looks like our next generation of trucker is rolling in." he laughed with a wink in my direction, "Welcome to the force kid."

I shivered, my face contorting into utter disgust. I hissed at the both of them, my mind flashing to Star Wars at the mention of the _force._ "I am your father Luke." I mumbled under my breath.

The two men laughed, "Well, glad to see you helping out your family." Emmett added in a soft voice.

There was only one reason we were really here, and it wasn't just to get me a car. We needed another semi to transport some parts and other goods to the next state over. My Dad's business depended on this going well, but with his schedule cramped and his staff short, there was only one person who could make the drive.

Me.

And not to say my Dad didn't have the money to support us for a good long while, but the shop was losing business. Can't fully say why, cause I don't know, it just was.

And losing the shop would kill my Dad.

So, having just turned 21 and officially in college, the hellish job was mine.

Driving a semi truck for many hours. Alone. Probably a crappy radio system with that trucker channel that trucks are rumored to have. (I'd go by the name, Depressed Nic. I'd make my voice all deep and pretend to have 22 kids all name Jeffrey, but they would all be girls. Yeah.)

"It's no big deal." I say.

Emmett smiled at that and began to show off his large assortments of trucks. The size of them all were relatively close to one another, but the different variety of colors blew me away. Didn't know Semi's came in more colors that White, Black or Red.

Motioning with his fingers towards the 7th Semi I had seen that day, Emmett wiggled his eyebrow, "The lime green tickle your fancy?"

"Muurp." I whispered like a ferocious breeze. Or just some really quiet hurricane.

"You shouldn't muurp at things you haven't fully tried." My dad tapped me. Muurping was my way of saying ' _screw you'_ for all of those who were wondering.

"What?" Emmett leaned towards us. He did not understand that potential of the Muurp. Or it's meaning, but whatever. It was a me thing, let it be.

"Say Emmett-" My dad was quick to change topics. "So how many trucks you got here?"

"At least 40 right now, but I got word 5 more are heading this way."

45 semi's all in the same area. The horror is real people.

A good 30 minutes later, I was leaning against the door of one of the Semi's messing with my shirt.

My Dad was talking to Emmett like him buying me a semi should be some honor, but it really wasn't. I didn't want to drive a big semi truck for the rest of my life. I had other things in mind. Bigger things.

Like, moving to Hawaii big. Or maybe just renting an apartment in New Hampshire. Either was fine.

Honestly, my big goal was being a baker. Only thing I can really bake is bread though. But isn't that why you go to school? To learn what you don't know. That is why my main degree is towards engineering and other mechanical things, but I'm taking at least 2 cooking classes on the side.

They are not going well.

"How about this one?" Emmett pulled me out of my thoughts.

We stopped as another Semi came into view. "What do you think baby girl?" My old man smiled.

I began to chant the word "Muurp" as I circled it, feeling both apathetic and confused to why we were still here. Could they not understand by my insistent muurping that I did not, nor would I ever, enjoy the idea of owning a semi?

Plus, this thing was lime green.

No.

Why can't I just borrow one of Dad's 3 semi's to get this stupid job done? We really do not need a 4th one.

"Uh…" Emmett gave my father a questioning look to which he shrugged.

"It doesn't quite catch her fancy." He answered. None of these things grasp, snatch, take hold of, grip, clasp, clutch or tickle my fancy! They don't even poke! Even a little.

Emmett refused to give up. The stubborn fool. He showed me every semi he had on that gosh darn property. From pink to simple periwinkle. I was surprised a Semi even came in periwinkle.

"You got anything small?" I asked.

"They are semi's dearie. Nothin' here is gonna be small." My father reminded me as we circled around back. "You sure you didn't like any of the ones we showed you? That fulvous one was nice." Evidently, fulvous is a color, cause I saw it today. "You haven't even sat in any of them."

Cause the seat it too flippin' high up to get to.

"Well I got one more. But it's a little banged up. Found it on the side of the road near here. Though I wouldn't suggest it. Who knows what it was used for before I got my hands on it." Emmett motioned for us to follow. Trailing behind him, I sighed as the final Semi truck came into view. "If you want the smallest one, this would be it."

Despite being the alleged " _Smallest semi_ " in the area, the Peterbilt truck that Jim was showing off was still looming over my head. I mean, you can't even consider calling any truck small, honestly.

"Why don't you try sitting in it?" my dad offered before I could muurp my way out of this.

"The seat might be sticky." I say.

"Or perfectly fine."

"Could be covered in bugs."

"Nope, cleaned it two days ago." Jim smiled.

Groaning in exasperation I tilted my head back, "Marp."

"What is marp?" Emmett asked.

"The meaner version of muurp." My dad sighed. _BEEP_ _YOU! (The beep starts with an F and end in a K if you are confused. Try to figure it out from there)_ "Just get going." he pushed me forward.

Letting the two truckers talk, I circled the beast, my fingers trailing across the faded blue paint with red flames. Probably looked like a pretty sweet ride before it got this torn up.

Whistling as I got to the front, I glanced it up and down. "Well look at you." I bent down to glance underneath. "Been through some hell, haven't ya my friend?" Patting the hood, or at least trying, I jumped up to the driver's seat and rested myself inside.

The seats were a little torn, but overall comfortable and not sticky. Always a plus.

I ran my hands along the steering wheel, turning it back and forth. I could drive this thing, sure, but did I want to? No.

Going through the glove box, I found that it was completely cleaned out, no sign of anyone previously owning this bad boy. "Ditched on the side of the road huh? I feel for ya man." I patted the steering wheel, noticing what seemed to be a bullet hole.

….Ooh~?

Pulling my hand away, I frowned at the odd black paint that came with it. I huffed, brushing it against my paint leg to whip the rest off.

There was some strange picture in the center of a wheel. Looked like a very square looking man face.

Must have been the symbol for some group or something.

Well this thing just went from lame to the coolest thing in the universe in a single leap.

"…-cole?"

My Dad was tapping on the glass a second later. Creaking the door open a bit, he smiled.

"Hey." He leaned against the frame of the door. "What do you think?"

"I think this car was part of a cult." I say.

"Ooh, what a backstory." He grinned. "I took a gander at the back. Looks like it's got bullet holes on the bumper."

"Drug dealers. Cult drug dealers." I gasp in awe.

"You want it?" he snickered. I believe any normal father would turn his nose up to this car, insulted that Jim would even offer it. But my old man was a man of something completely opposite of caution.

He believed one should disregard the obvious signs of trouble and run straight into the belly of the beast.

I followed my Father's footsteps respectfully, war spear pointed and ready.

"Well if I had to pick any of them, this would be the one." I honked the horn. It didn't make a sound. "And hey, look at that. I'll be a silent killer now. Those old ladies won't know what hit them."

My father folded his arms, perplexed, "...I feel like that wasn't meant to be taken as a joke."

"It wasn't." I sighed, "I don't want a semi Dad."

His smile fell and he nodded. "I know this wasn't your first choice baby girl. But with the next couple shipments coming in and my staff short handed, you're the only one I can trust to get the cargo where it needs to go."

"Can I use one of your semi's? Do we really need a fourth one?" I slouched into the seat.

"I was planning on getting another whether it was yours or not." He admitted. "Your uncles are all taking the other Semi's and heading in different directions. If you want to get to where you are going, you're going to need your own."

"A full 6 hour drive." I scowled.

He looked torn. I hated when he looked like that. "I hate to put this on you. I know a lot of important things are coming up for you, and I don't want you to push that aside for the shop, but your mom and me want put your little brother through college and let you finish up your next two years strong. I can't do that if I lose the place." There was a deep pain in his eyes.

The shop has been in our family for generations. To just lose it under his watch would shatter all things that made my Dad him.

"I know dad." I took his hand. "I don't want to, and I'm serious about the possibility of my killing someone while I'm driving, but I'll do it for the family."

"Baby girl." He whimpered like I just made his entire world, "That means so much to me sweetheart."

"…The part about me agreeing to get a semi or me running over old ladies?" I asked.

"Well-" he leaned in to whisper, "If it stayed between us, I'll walk grannie out to the center of the road, then you come speeding down-"

"Dad!" I laughed, hitting his arm.

"What?" he asked innocently. "The women hates me. Drives me up a wall."

"She's your Mother in law. No one said you two would get along." I snorted.

"Yeah, and no one said she would stare at me while I sleep either, but she does. I've caught her doing it. But your Mom just says, "Oooh. She's just old. She does weird things. Just ignore it." His voice turned high pitched. And that is why he keeps his door locked.

She picks it.

We shared a laugh, "Seriously Dad. Do you know how many stares I'll get when people see me driving this big thing?"

"You're too high up. No one will even see your face." He waved it off. "Wanna step out and take a look under the hood?"

"Nah." I leaned back.

" _Wanna take a look under the hood."_ My dad asked again.

One thing I have learned is that it is difficult to refuse requests made in italics.

"Curse sentence formatting." I slithered out of the seat and down the steps.

"Emmett! Commence the opening of the hood!" My Father snapped his fingers. Emmett blinked once, glanced at the hood, and then flicked it open. "A little more dramatic action next time pal." My dad sighed.

"Hey, eccentrics are your thing." He put a few stools down and we peeked inside.

The engine was glorious. For a car so banged up, the inside was sparkling. My dad took in a breath, "Emmett, you have this engine fixed up recently?"

"No sir." His eyes sparkled. "Came in like this. Pretty thing, isn't it?"

"How much you want for it?" My dad asked casually.

"Normally I'd say 8000, since the rest of the car is so beaten up. But for you my friend, I'm willing to cut it in half. Especially since you offered to fix up that window."

My Dad high fived me behind his back. Thank you toothpicks~

My dad was happy to hear that, "What do you say?" he asked me. "Wanna bring me this bad boy home?"

I glanced the vehicle up and down. Shaking my head a few times, I scratched the back of my head, "Sure." I sighed. "Why not?"

The two men cheered, high fiving one another. "Lets step inside and make this official then." Jim motioned to his cabin building or whatever it was. Letting them go on ahead, I stayed with the truck.

"Well big guy. Looks like you are coming home with me." I patted it. "Welcome to the family. It's gonna be hell. I swear I'll try not to rear end you in the next couple weeks." I swear I felt it vibrate at my fingertips.

My dad let me be the one to drive the Semi home when the paperwork was done. His grin was weary as we pulled into the lot of our shop. "Okay." He said, "So, hit three curbs, a fire hydrant, and a stop sign. Not bad. I give you 75 points. If you wait right here I'll go grab Grannie-"

"No." I placed it in park.

"Rats." He clicked his teeth.

My mom welcomes us home with punch and a banner saying, " **Welcome home Truckers."**

I burned it in the fire pit approximately 30 minutes later as I drank my punch. It was satisfying.

"Is a party really necessary?" I asked my Mom went she strolled by. The banner wasn't for nothing apparently. Apparently the entire neighborhood was showing up for some get together to celebrate the fact that I was, _becoming one with the family business._

"It was your Father's idea." She smiled. "Do you not like it?"

"I-" I cut myself off, "No, it's fine. It just isn't that big of a deal. It's just a truck."

Her smile was forced but loving, "It is never just a truck to your Father."

I nodded begrudgingly to that. "Well, might as well get my freak on. Where is the beer?" I grinned.

"No alcohol." She wiggled her finger at me.

"Oh come on. I'm 21. It's legal." I followed her to the kitchen. "What if I promise not to dangle myself off the roof like last time?"

"Like you could stop yourself if you got drunk." She scoffed.

"One bottle!" I disagreed. "It would only be one bottle."

Pausing, my mom glanced back and forth, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. "A single bottle."

"Thanks Mom!" I kissed her cheek, grabbing the coldest beer I could get my paws on and sauntering outside. Plopping down on a recliner seat, I lifted my glass when a few folks began to pile into our backyard.

"Congratulations! Way to go! About time! Congrats." They all said.

My voice sounded robotic to my ears, but they didn't seem to notice, "Yup. Yeah thanks."

Yeah.

I'm living the dream alright.

Yay….

"Sis!" I turned my head at the sound of a small and sweet voice, "You gonna name it?" my baby brother, Jeremy, a lovable 7 year old, asked. He was pointing to the truck. I balked. Name it? Naming it would involve growing attached and _caring_ for a person or creature. If I named it, my spineless little heart would never listen to my brain again and I would forever be stuck with the old red and blue fiend.

"No." I say.

"You could name it Christine." Jeremy offered, forcing his way into my lap.

"Christine." I frowned. "As in, Christine from the movie? You want me to name my car after a possessed demon car?"

Jeremy blinked innocently at me. "Demon car?"

"Never mind." I shook my head. "I think the car is a boy anyway."

"Herby then." Jeremy concluded. This kid was messing with me, I swear.

"I'm not naming it that." I ruffled his hair. Clinking our drinks together, wine and apple juice, the perfect mix, Jeremy gave me a wide look.

"Can I have a sip?" he pointed to my bottle.

"In 14 years, sure."

"Aww." Jeremy jumped when someone suddenly kicked open the fence door.

"WHERE IS HE?!" A voice demanded. Shocked, I watched non-other than Ron Witwicky kick his way into the party. Slightly balding and bearing his regular gray jacket, he scanned the crowd wildly.

All eyes moved to my Dad, who was fuming, his breathing heavy, "Witwicky!" he bellowed, face red.

"Cater!" Mr. Witwicky growled. The two men stormed over to each other, chests puffed out and eyes ready to kill.

This was a thing for some reason. I call it one of my dad's many strange traditions with the people he knows.

"You got some nerve showing your face here." My dad growled.

"Oh? From what the signs says, _all are welcomed."_ Witwicky was rolling up his sleeves.

"Well you read wrong!" he was mimicking him, revealing his muscular biceps.

"Then you must have spelled wrong!" Witwicky paused, "Oh wait, that isn't something new." Reference to my name, nice. Appreciate it.

My father gasped, hand gripping his chest. "…Low blow." He growled. Lifting up their fists, the two men squared off. The rest of us watched with dull amusement, pursing our lips when the men began to circle each other.

And…

…The two embraced, laughing and barking like dogs. There it was.

"What took you so long?" My dad cackled into the shoulder of his best friend.

Witwicky sighed, "Sons."

"What did little Sam do now?" they were moving to the punch table. Sam was the kid down the road. Awkward, nerdy, has a crush on this chick name Mikaela but is too shy to make a move.

Also the kid I would torture and steal his lunch money from in Elementary school.

We let bygones be bygones in high school since I was a mature senior and he was the little baby freshman. Good friends since then.

"Well, you getting Nicole a car gave him the idea that he is old enough to get his own for some reason." Witwicky began to explain. "So I thought I'd get him something cheap y'know, and guess what he got?"

"What?" my dad inquired.

"It's yellow and stripped. And if that isn't bad enough, it's a 1977 Chevrolet Camaro."

ARE YOU KIDDING?!

I got up to my feet so fast Jeremy tumbled out of my lap. My first car is a heaping possibly cult involved Semi but Sam, who is several years younger than me, gets a Camaro? AND IT'S STRIPPED!?

"Cause that isn't going to cause trouble." My dad smiled.

"I know." Mr. Witwicky sighed. "He's parking it now. Should be here soon."

Fuming all the way up to when Sam arrived, I felt tempted to chuck my bottle at him when he approached.

"Hey Nicole!" Sam beamed at me.

"Samuel." I grumbled.

He lowered his hand, blinking. "Uh… Nicolas."

I hissed at his use of my first name, "Speak not of that name."

"Sorry." he held up his hands, "Nice party though. Your dad went all out this time."

"Yeah, the meat is all the way up to the roof." I paused, glancing over his shoulder, past the fence, to the street. I could see it from here. Sam's new car. "A Camaro huh?" I sighed.

"Yeah." He nodded. "…Semi huh?" he motioned to it.

"Yes." I sighed, head slamming into the table. "I guess I can die happy."  
"Sarcasm." he noted. "Not very happy?"

"Would you?"

"Eh, I dunno. Might be fun." he offered.

"Yeah… and maybe you'll finally get a date." I snorted.

"Ooh." he frowned, "Harsh. Very harsh." he stood up, grabbing a drink for himself. "And this is why I barely talk to you."

"That's funny since I'm the only one you talk to." I took a sip of my beer. "How is your love life going?"

"I dunno Nicole, how is your cooking classes going?" he countered.

"Low hanging fruit Sam." I scowled.

"Don't dish it unless you can take it."

Glaring at each other, the smiles breaking across our faces could be unavoidable. We clinked our glasses together. "To a better year." we say.

 **So yeah, this story has been on my computer for an entire year now. I actually forgot about it till I pulled it up. I'm just gonna post this first chapter and see what happens.**

 **Honestly, I don't expect it to get popular or anything, but I shouldn't let it just go to waste.**

 **If people really want me to I'll post more chapters, but we'll see.**


	2. Chapter 2

When I was 5, I got put in time out for cutting off a chunk of my playmate's hair. That was Sam.

When I was 8 I got sent home for spilling glue on top of a kid's head. That was also Sam.

When I was 10 I hit a kid with my bike, (Literally picked it up and smacked him across the head like it was a fly swatter) then tossed him back into his yard, staging it perfectly to look like he got hit by a falling tree branch so I could pretend I hadn't done anything. Sam once again. (Course the little weasel woke up and tattled like the worm he was and I got grounded for 3 weeks.)

When I was fourteen I got expelled for 2 weeks for punching a guy's front tooth out. That wasn't Sam but he was present to take a picture of the event so that I could frame it in my room. Thus our friendship was born and I looked at Sam in a different light. (I used a flashlight to see his face as I color on it in the middle of the night over a glow stick.) (Cue the drumstick joke noise!)

I also met a locker goblin that day that apparently isn't a locker goblin and just some kid the bully shoved into the locker. His name is Felix; he's my Math tutor now.

"Nicole, you gotta stay focus." My dad clapped his hand together to catch my attention.

"..." I blinked at him. "Oh…" I socked him in the nose by _sheer instinct_.

"Right in the schnoz!" He wailed, toppling over.

"Oh gosh." I faked a gasp, "Sorry Dad, you startled me. You shouldn't do that." I counseled.

"Ugh…" he grunted. With the elegance of an elephant he rolled over, folding his arms over his chest. "Bury me with the tires of Dustin."

"Including the spares?" I inquire.

"Only one of them." He stuck out his tongue, lolling it to his side.

"That is too bad. Mom was making pie tonight." I pause, "Score! I get your piece! Hear that Mom?!" I call in to the window.  
"Okay dear." She called back.

"Honey bun no!" My father wailed and he leapt to his feet. Composing himself, he cleared his throat, "Alright, come on. Here we go." My dad held up the training pads attached to his palms. Lifting my fists, I began to punch and kick them.

This was a thing. The two of us training in self defense together because my dad did that with his life once upon a dream. A boxer/wrestler/trainer is what he was, or something along those lines. So he teaches me and I use it to pummel stupid people outside of home.

"So, when do you want me heading out?" I huffed.

"For what?" He asked.

"The job. The one I need my cult truck for." Cause that is what I am calling it now, because that is what it looks like. A cult car.

"End of the week." He smiled. The look he gave me had the ' _I'm so proud my Daughter is a Trucker'_ vibe, so I reciprocated with taking out his knees. I lifted my arms out, bellowing in victory as he fell. "Once again the boxing champion defeats the lower chump!"

"Sneaky move baby girl." He got to his feet, dusting himself off. Pulling off the pads he tossed them back onto the porch. "Okay, so just to make sure you remember; when you go out today and some guy tries to make a pass at you, what do you do?"

"Keep calm, show no mercy and kick them where it hurts." I say

"Well uh, yeah but-"  
"Aim for the sternum and then when they are struggling to breath you commence an elbow strike to the pulmonary Plexus with a quick follow up using a knife hand strike to the carotid artery."

"If you wanna get technical sure-"

"And for good measure; finish it with a back fist strike to the jaw." I conclude

"...I would prefer more if you ran first and use that as only a last resort." He admitted.

I pursed my lips, scoffing, "Dad please. Would you do that?"

"You aren't me." He glanced away.

"I'm you and more." We shared a moment of tearful remorse, our minds thinking back to the Disney movie _Good Dinosaur._

 _"_ Okay okay fine." He sighed, ruffling my hair. As we moved to the porch to step inside, my father reached out to grab a seared strand of hair sticking out from the back of my head. "Nicole, what happened to your hair?"

"Don't ask me Dad. I am very bad at recollecting my past." I shrugged. (Whispers: I totally tried to cut my hair using a candle. I would not suggest it to amateur pyros or experimental salon stylists.)

"Yes don't bother dear." My Mom sighed, "Last time I asked her what she did at school she told me something about patronizing eggs and flying dingoes."

"Those things totally happened." Moving around the table I ruffled Jeremy's hair. He swatted my hands away, determined to finish his pie slice.

"I got a 50% on my history test!" He declared. I struck a pose of victory.

My parents swooned right next to me, striking similar poses, "That's our boy!"

Key to winning my parents affections; keep expectations low- that way, when you put a little effort into something it looks like you are a super star in their eyes. Totally works every time.

That or my brother just really isn't good at school.

"Good Job bro." I say.

He gushed, "My teacher gave me a bronze star."

"A- A bronze star?!" My mother stammered furiously, "My baby should be getting gold!"

My Dad shook his head, "Nah, bronze is good. Bronze is third and third is one who gets the treasure chest."

"First is the worst, second is the best, and third is one who gets the treasure chest!" We chant, slamming our fists into the table like tribal warriors. My Mother sighed at us.

"You three, I swear…."

Sharing a laugh, I paused when my phone began to ring. Pulling it out, I titled my head; "I'm getting a text from Judy." I say. Judy is Sam's Mom. We are on some weird first name basis for some reason now ever since Sam and me become friends. I've even been invited to her annual Sunday brunch. I think I'll make it something casual but bring my butcher knife in my bag just in case things get wild.

"Why do you call her Judy?" My Mom sighed.

"She insists."

My Mom wiggled her fingers, "Well I insist she doesn't wear that stupid sun hat, but does she listen? Nooo."

"What is that woman stressing about now?" My old man mused.

Scanning over the text I shrugged, "Something about her wanting me to come over? Apparently she is worried her precious Samuel is about to get into some vulgar teenage shenanigans." I explain. Which for Sam, probably meant he was making a change is his regular attire of clothes or considering getting a hair cut.

My Dad snorted, "Ooh-hoo, we'll we can't have that. Better head over there and set that boy straight."

"Usually Judy would never want you near Sam." My mother noted as I rose from my seat, "You suddenly being nice to him usually don't change things." It's been two years; I hardly call that _suddenly_ being nice. More of gradually being nice to the point where I don't actually throw bikes at him anymore but threaten to on a daily basis.

"Perhaps she is trying to stay on my good side so I don't revert back to by regular tendencies." I offer.

My mom scoffed, clicking her teeth together, "You would never hurt Sam."

"I know that, you know that, but does she know that?" I asked. "No, no she doesn't. Thus, I'm soaking in the fact that she is sucking up to me."

"That is horrible.," she scolded. "Even if I don't necessarily like the woman myself."

"You are just jealous cause her garden is better than yours." I pull on my coat.

"Ooh." My dad gasped, "Shots fired!"

My Mother turned red, "She does _not_ have a better garden! A-And it isn't even her garden! It is Ron's! He is the one doing all the work!"

"Whatever you say Mom." I kissed her cheek, then Jeremy's and finally my Dads, "I'm off."

"Remember the basic means of self defense." My Dad called.

"Keep calm, show no mercy and kick them where it hurts!" Jeremy cheered.

"Wha- no-" My Dad fumbled

"Got'cha." I winked

"No don't listen to that!" He called after me. Already out of the house, I shimmied down to _my semi_ and hopped in. Turning on the ignition, having to wait a few seconds, I sighed. Cheering when it came to life, I pulled it into drive and took about 10 minutes just to get out of the lot.

After that, I rode down the road with my eyes scanning the perimeters for old ladies. I would be hitting none of those today, thank you very much. And I admit, I was completely amazed that I managed to get to Sam's house without scratching anything other than the sidewalks.

Pulling this bad boy into park, taking up almost the whole street to do so, I stepped out and moved down the side walk to the lovely home of the Witwickys. Mrs. and Mr. Witwicky seemed to already be outside and attempting some serious gardening.

"Hey Judy." I wave. She turned to look at me from within her yard, smiling.

"Oh Nicolas." she waved.

"Nicole." I correct. "Hi."

She covered her mouth, "Oh, sorry. Hello-" she cut herself off, "Sup girl." She gave me a piece sign.

Ron, her husband and Sam's Father, looked horrified, "Don't de that." He pleaded with her.

"What?" She asked, "It's hip."

"Nothing about that was hip." He shook his head.

"What are you two up to?" I asked the Witwicky. Cause yard work is such an interesting aspect to one's daily life and I am so interested in its challenges and strife. Oh wait, no, I'm not...

"Finishing my side walk." Ron said with pride, motioning to it. "Nice, right?"

"Sure." I shrugged.

"This one is uneven." Judy called. Ron sighed heavily.

"I'll get to it." He told her.

I chuckled at the two, "Sam upstairs?"

"Like always." They nod.

I saluted them both. Moving around them I slide into the front door and up the steps to Sam's room.

Pushing through the door, the concept of knocking completely lost long ago, I whistled to find Sam in his boxers, his hands reached down to his ankles in attempt to pull up some pants. "Strut it!" I snap

"Nicole-!" He flipped over. "Don't you knock!?" He demanded, shuffling to pull up his pants and throw on a shirt.

"No." I say, plopping down on his bed. He grunted furiously at me, rummaging around to pull stuff out from under me. "Shouldn't put so much stuff on your bed." I say snatching up a magazine and flipping through it.

He muttered angry words that I couldn't understand. Moving violently around his room he locked his gaze at me.

I grin, "Hey."

"...Hey." Sam sighs, lifting his bag out of the seat.

"What's that?"

"My Granddad's old stuff." Sam explained moving it across the room.

"Ah, the tale of Archibald Witwicky. Greatest Explorer ever."

"Yeah, hopefully that title is enough to get something out of these."

Lifting up some glasses containers, I peeked inside at the old spectacle's Archibald use to wear. They were cracked, and you probably couldn't see out of them very well, but the aspect of them were cool I suppose, "You're selling them?" I asked. "You're parents are cool with that?" I lifted up the glasses, placing them on and pushing them up to the bridge of my nose. His grandfather had really bad sight. "Ooohhh." I held my arms out blindly, "What horribly ugly blurs." I pointed to the Sam blur.

"Not like we use them for anything." he paused, "Hey. Hey." he reached for me, snatching the glasses away. "Will you stop that?"

"What?" I snorted.

"Well look at you. Burst into my room, mess with my stuff, and ruin my business. I can't have you damaging these. Can't sell damaged goods." He fused

"Oh yeah, cause EBay is such a renowned business practice. And you totally can sell damaged goods." I shrugged. "Just gotta be sure they can't track you down when they realize you cheated them."

"Haha." he grumbled, glancing at himself in the mirror. "So what do you want? Come to bother me?"

"Something like that?" I spread out over his bed, folding my arms behind my head, "More of a representative in a Mother's worry ways."

"Oh great, cause that is so much better." He snorts. Sam paused to press his face to the window, "Oh what, you brought it here?" he gawked at my Semi, which I had leisurely parked across 10 different parking spots on the street.

"I told you man, this is what I have to deal with. This is the only thing that is available for me to drive to get places." I say. "I mean, I had to park it somewhere and I can't take it with me when you leave."

"Hey wait- what do you mean?" He finally asked the oh so important questions.

"Judy thinks you are being vulgar." I scold.

"Don't call my Mom Judy." he groaned. "And what is this about vulgar? I'm not vulgar. I'm a gentlemen and I'm just going out."

"She thinks it is bad for you health." I snort. "Worried that you might join the dark side of the teenage social pool."

He was bewildered, "And she asked _you_ to make sure I don't?"

"I know, weird right?" I laughed. "So what is this vulgar outing you are going to?"

He put on his shoes, "A party."

"A party?"

"Yeah. Big one. Lots of people." Sam nodded, adjusting his hair and looking at himself in the mirror. I sneer at him from behind.

"Certain girl gonna be there?"

"Maybe." he frowned.

"You gonna go?" I asked casually, glancing at him from the side.

He shrugged, mumbling something. Ugh, I hated when he mumbled. Why was it a teenage thing to mumble?

"Speak up Sam." I told him.

He took offense to this, "Why you questioning me? Huh? I feel threatened right now."

"Oh." I scoffed, "Please Sam. Come on." I threw his blanket on the other side of the room. He quickly moved to retrieve it, folding it neatly back at the bottom of the bed.

Shaking his head, he turned away, running a hand through his hair, "I dunno man…" he huffed at me. "I'll just drive by or something. Try to look cool."

"Or just make yourself look like a fool." I corrected, grinning that I kind of rhymed there, "Driving by without actually going into the party would simply make you look desperate to be there. It wouldn't be worth your time on something like that."

"Nothing sacrificed nothing gained."

"You need to get a new catch phrase. That one is getting old." I commented. "So what are you gonna do when you get there."

"Mingle?"

"Sam, I don't want to ruin your childlike innocence, but just know that this look I am about to give you is entirely patronizing." Raising my eye brow, I leaned forward, pursing my lips. "This is the teenage world samuel. There is never a large party simply intended for mingling. It is focused on alcohol and fun times in a bed room"

"..."

"So, let's correct our answer. What are you gonna do when you get there?"

He bit his lip, "I-I dunno… Try to talk to Michaela? Or uh… at least have some eye contact with her?"

"Sam. Sam Sam sam... That is sad."

"It's all I got."

"You've totally got more than that." I insist. "Like- you've become a pro at dodging projectile bicycles."

"I got you to thank for that." He rolled his eyes.

"And that is a great skill to have. But you gotta have more than that too. You gotta take the rein, go up to Michaela and as utterly impossible as it sounds, you gotta woo her."

"I couldn't do that." I totally agree, but I should consider trying to sound supportive, right?

"Says who? And by who I obviously mean me, but ignore me. I mean, sure you might just have to be lucky to get far with her, but that is just because you are strange and awkward."

There was a glare shot in my direction, "My Mom use to tell me luck would travel to those who are patient. Even if I don't talk to her there is always another day."

"Why would you bother waiting on this?" I questioned. "I mean, you got two good feet right there." I motioned to them. Hating that Sam never seemed to want to be able to chase after his goals, I turned to him, pinching his cheek upward so he would look at me. "What exactly are you waiting for Sam?"

"I… I don't know." he admitted, blinking at me with wide eyes.

"That is your problem. Do you want to know what I think?"

"...No. Not really." he winced, blinking rapidly.

"WEll, I'm gonna tell you anyway!" I slapped his head. "You are going to go to this party. You are going to go talk to Michaela, look her straight in the eyes, and tell her who you are. You are going to make her look at you cause Sam, she is never gonna do it on her own unless you make the first move." I yanked his chair back and he tumbled off of it. "Come on! Get dressed into something not *motion to his shirt* whatever crap you are wearing now and grab yours keys. Go Go Go!"

"O-Okay! Okay!" He squeaked, stumbling into his bathroom. Watching him slam it shut to brush his teeth, I sighed.

"That poor fool." I chided. "He's gonna get eaten alive." I glanced at my feet at the little Chihuahua. "Hey there Mojo." I cooed, scooping the little rascal up. "Look at you. All battered and bruised." I tapped his little casts around his legs. "In a fight? Picking fights again?" I baby talked to him all the way until Sam returned.

"Here Mojo." Sam grabbed a bottle of painkillers, "You only get one. I know you get wasted on these things but if you pee on my bed one more time you're sleeping outside." Feeding his dog one of the little pills he put Mojo on the ground. "That's it for today. Crack head."

"Drug addict." I swoon, patting Mojo's head.

"Okay." Sam told himself. "So I got the car. Now I need the girl, but I need money to take out the girl."

"Broke as broke can be." I sang.

Glancing at the computer he nodded, "Broke and broke can be." He agreed mournfully. Rushing across his room to finish getting ready I studied Sam's collection of breath fresheners.

" _Stink go away_." I say, holding one up. " _Understand men. Snog me senseless?_ Sam where the hell do you buy your fresheners at?"

"They're from my uncles."

"..." I picked up Snog me Senseless and tried it. "Ugh, awful." I sprayed my mouth one more time for good measure. "Yeah, awful."

"Then don't use it." He snatched it away. Spraying his mouth more times then need, he shook his shoulders, attempting to keep everything loose. "Like clockwork." He tells himself.

"Like a self destroying spiral that slowly slips into Madness."

"... Can you go?" He sighed.

"No."

"Ugh…" he slapped his forehead a few times, swinging open his door. Slithering after him I followed him down the steps and out the door.

"Ron, this one is uneven!" Judy yelled as we exited the house, messing with one of the stones in the walkway up from the mailbox to the porch.

"Yeah, probably." Ron sighed.

"This one is wobbly."

"Yeah, I'll take care of that also."

Judy sighed, "Ooh, couldn't we have hired a professional?"

Ron's eyes shot from his wife to his son in a heartbeat, "Agh Sam!" He yelled.

"What?" Sam frowned.

"I do not like footprints on my grass." he yelled to Sam as he strolled leisurely across the yard.

"There are no footprints." Sam argued.

"That is why I built my Path." Ron motioned back and forth, "So why don't you move from my grass onto my path? Huh?"

"Dad." Sam sighed. "It's family grass."

"Yeah well, when you own grass you'll understand."

"Yeah Sam." I strut across the sidewalk, "Your Dad worked hard on this." I scold.

If looks could kill Sam's look would not do so, but at least he attempted a glare. Just ended up looking like a tantrum pout. Pausing to watch Mojo climb up to his little… Mojo house, Sam groaned, "This-This, I can't do it anymore. You are putting girl jewelry on a boy dog. He already has enough self esteem issues with his size."

"It's his bling." Judy cooed affectionately.

"Looks like a show pony." I snort.

"See." Sam pointed to me. "See, she gets it. She understands."

"Oh you two are just ridiculous." Judy waved it off. "You heading out?" She gave me a look, like she was subtlety trying to convey a message but horribly failing as she lowered and raised her eyebrows, attempting a not so subtle wink.

"Yeah." I say, shaking my head at her to get her stop whatever she was doing, "Totally gonna take Sam to a nice Library."

"Oh really?" Judy sighed with relief. Ron rolled his eyes behind her. "That is great! Sam that is great." She tugged on his sleeve.

"Yeah, sure, whatever Mom."

"I want you home by eleven!' She says to us.

"Eleven." Rob repeated.

"Yea yeah.' Sam hopped into the car and I slide next to him, scanning over everything I could. It was a little run down, but overall, very nice.

"Honestly." I gripe, "This is what I was talking about when I said I wanted a car."

"Boo-hoo for you." Sam turned on the engine. I coughed, waving my hands as a not so elegant pile of dust shot up through the window.

"Lovely." I say as he moved out into the street.

"It does that." He sighed.

"At least it has wheels."

Cruising like we own this town, Sam turned up the radio. Banging his head to the beat, I stick my hand out the window, letting the wind pull and tug on it. "So where is the party?"

"The lake."

"Ooh. The Lake. This party must be big." We took a weird turn. "But uh, the lake is the other way genius." I motion back up the street.

"I know. I have to pick up a friend." He's got this weird expression on and I don't like it.

I frown, "Which one?" I recognized the street and went pale. No. No no no no NO NO NO! "Nooooo." I gag as we pull up to the house of _Miles Lancaster;_ one of the creepiest and dumbest people on the planet I swear! "Dude please tell me we aren't picking up Lamecaster."

"Lancaster. Don't insult my friends."

"But he's so weird~" I groan.

"Then don't come with us." Sam flicked his wrist at me. Huffing, I rolled into the back when Miles stumbled out of the front door, his shirts a mess and his jeans inside out.

"If he even tries to reach for me I'm breaking his fingers." I warned.

"Noted." Sam grimaced. "Hey Miles!" He perked up as Miles clapped, grinning from ear to ear.

"Dude you did it! It looks awesome!" He circled the car, high fiving Sam through the open driver's side window. Examining the car thoroughly Miles froze up when he opened the door and peered into the back. "N-N-N-N-" he eyes trailed up and down my form, mouth hanging open.

"Miles." I grimaced.

"H…" he gagged on his own spit, "H-Hey Nicole! Hey Nicole. Hey Nicole." he choked, his voice attempting to get deeper with each repeat of the sentence. He was glancing excitedly back at Sam like this was the best day of his life.

"...H.E.Y." I spell.

"Dude get in the car." Sam commanded after 5 minutes of Miles standing there dumbly, his face curled upward into a love stricken and lopsided smile.

"You didn't say Nicole was coming." He gushed.

"Didn't realize she was either till a bit ago." Sam agreed, backing out of the driveway and back onto the road. Curling into myself when Miles was turning in the seat, attempted to look at me, I sighed.

"So uh- uh… h-how are you? You look great. Did you cut your hair? Can I tough it?"

"Fine. Thanks. No." I say in short utterances. "Touch my hair and I will cut you."

How was Sam friends with this guy?! Sure Sam is socially awkward, but he could also be quick on his feet and wonderfully sarcastic when he tried. So someone explain to these two are friends?

Like, if you put this guy into a contest to determine which person makes a girl most uncomfortable in a span of 5 minutes, he would win, hands down. And I try to give him the benefit of the doubt, I really do, but he just doesn't know the meaning of personal space sometimes!

"And then I told the guy to return my sofa cause I nee it summon my friend charles but-"

I bit my lip when I realized that during my spacing out, Miles had continued to talk to me none stop, never once realizing I wasn't paying attention. "Miles. Listen, I'm going to be brutally honest with you cause I don't care much for your feelings, as horrible as that sounds. I do not talk to guys who say my name more than twice in a normal conversation, enter my personal bubble, talk about aliens and that have more than one stain on their shirt. You have passed both of those qualities with flying colors, so shh, and turn around."

I could see Sam wince through the reflection of his rear view mirror.

Looking down at his shirt, Miles gave me a wild and confused look. Hoping he understood my not so subtle deny of his attempts to get close to me I enjoyed my few seconds of silence before he said, "Do you like Potato chips?" He scratched the back of his head and messing with his hair.

"Good Marping god." I pinched the bridge of my nose, about 5 seconds from yanking this guy's tongue out. Sam's shoulders were shaking and I could tell he was enjoying himself. "Someone just shoot me now."

"So Miles." Sam snorts, "How is your dog?"

"Great man." Miles forced himself to turn around. "He's all big and fluffy and slobbery and fluffy and his totally not covered in lice but like, I think he's got ticks or something but I dunno but I gave him a bath and like he get all wet from the water and then I got wet from the water and then I tried to get towels but I could only find bed sheets so the bed sheets are wet."

"This conversation literally hurts me." I whisper

"And then my dog ran off and I chased him and this cat followed me, but she was crazy. Tried to lick me. I hid in a tree till my mom came back cause you know how I feel about cats."

"I know man." Sam nodded knowingly, smiling mischievously at me through the rear view mirror.

"But then 3 of them showed up! It's like they were communicating. And they wanted the tuna I had in my pocket! The one I wrapped up in tinfoil to sacrifice to the aliens that night. Cause I figured out aliens like their food wrapped in tinfoil. I looked it up. I'll show you the site later."

"Are you on drugs or something?" I demand. "Like, seriously are you?"

Miles blinked a few times, "...Nah I don't like aspirin."

"... Sam let me out of the car." I grabbed his arm.

"Nope." he smirked.

"Sam please." I beg.

He's snickering like a little girl, "You wanted to come with me to the party so you are coming with. We're almost there anyway and it is a good 12 miles back to your house."

"I will walk! I will hitch hike on a Marping donkey if I have to. For the love of all that is good Sam let me out of this hell ride!" I cry desperately, sliding down his arm and back into the seat.

"...Did you want some tuna too?" Miles asked obliviously. "I still have some." He took it out of his pocket.

"Sam!"

"We're here~" he whistled joyfully.

"Dude." Miles went pale as we rolled up next to the lake, "Are you sure we are invited to this party? There are a lot of big gorilla people here." He motioned to the football players.

"Of course Miles." Sam smiles, "It's a lake. It's public property."

"...That doesn't count as an invite." I'm punching my own fist to prevent myself from punching the two boys in front of me. Sam gave me a look over his shoulder. I flick his ear.

"Look at the road." Taking a gander out the window I admired the sea of drunken toddlers high schoolers before me and almost found myself impressed at the high level of alcohol consumption. "Now this is a party."

Shooting to a stop, Sam froze up as he reached for his door, his eyes trailing to something in the distance. "There she is." He said in awe. I pushed myself between the two front seats to see. Standing a bit away next to this Hummer was Michaela, girl of Sam's dream.

A girl _wayyyyy_ out of his league. Will I tell him? Nah, I'll wait till later.

"Go get 'em Tiger." I yawned, not really in the mood to watch Sam get humiliated in front of everyone in his school.

'You aren't coming?" He asked incredulously.

"Nah man." I lean back, "The trip over here made me exhausted. I'm gonna take a nap." And I am not in the mood with walking around with Miles next to me. He had a tendency of grabbing your shirt if you stand next to him for too long, so yeah, nooooo. "Wake me if there is a fight and you need me to beat up the guy threatening to beat you up." I tell Sam

"Hah-ha." He scowled a laugh kicking open his door to step out.

"Okay bye Nicole. Bye. See you soon. You're perfect. I'll leave the Tuna here if you want it" Miles said dreamily to me, putting the tuna on the seat. I groaned in detest.

"Dude." Sam tugged on his ear, "Don't be weird."

Way too late for that you little piece of crap! Honestly, if I had a bike right now Sam...

"Okay here we go." I heard him say. "Just don't do anything weird."

"Okay." Miles agrees.

"...Do I look good." Their voices started to fade as I relaxed in the back seat.

"Yeah you're good."

...This totally wasn't going to end badly or nothing, but good luck Sam; you sad, sad little nerd you.

* * *

Whoop yeah. The end... 

This chapter was weird XD But yeah, here you go. I have a bit more written for this story, but yeah. I got so many other stories, who knows how often I'll update this one. Hopefully not too long. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Ugh, I think I spelled Mikaela's name wrong again.**

 **This whoel chapter I spelled it Michaela, and I think it is the others way. I dunno. Whatever. I'll fix it in the next chapter!**

 **Hope you guys like this one.**

 **I feels weird writing a transformers fanfiction honestly. I've never done it before. So Hopefully this story isn't too weird or anything.**

* * *

As I awoke from my slumber I pinpointed a stranger with a feeble heart piloting his Camaro with solemn determination. He was desperate to look, as the kids called it; _suave_. His chicken limbs sagged flabbily in the afternoon sun.

Deep within me stirred feelings I had not felt in many moons; the complete uncontrollable urge to give someone a wedgie. Preferably this dork.

Twas at this moment, as I was reached forward to complete said urge that I realized my baby-faced neighbor was flirting.

With his irresistible infant charm he had managed to maneuver Michaela Banes into this vehicle. A vehicle I was currently trapped in.

You fall asleep for 10 minutes and you end up tagging along in some awkward teen feast. Gross.

I shall eat Samuel later for forgetting I was in his back seat thus making me stuck in his back seat. I shall not rise from this position though because I know if I do, he would cry at me later, and thus I will have to coddle and comfort. Two things I hate to do.

Also meaning I will probably not do that later and instead drop kick him out a window in hopes he accumulates amnesia and forgets all that transpired here today. Sounds like the best plan ever.

Oop they're talking, Shh. Shh. Who is talking? Oh wait, that is just me. Shhh!

"I can't believe I am here right now." Michaela sighed heavily. Sam sucked in a breath, glancing over his shoulder at her. Taking a few moments, he frowned.

"...You can duck down if you want, it won't hurt me feelings." He said softly. Just kick self-preservation to the side, who needs it anyway? All that matters is that we feel insignificant and worthless in the eyes of the ones we admire. Have some respect for yourself Sam! Jeez...

"Ah- oh, no no no. I didn't mean with you. I just mean here in this situation. It is always the same situation." She explained quickly.

"Oh." he nodded.  
"I guess I just-" she sighed to herself, "I guess I just have this weakness for hot guys with tight abs and big arms."

Me too, though the two things I mainly look for in guys is if they are tall or a mystical creature. I almost got my wish once when I started to date a werewolf but he turned out to just be a big hairy guy that lived under a bridge. After many emotional debates we determined that our compatibility for each other was souly based off of my belief that he was a werewolf and that it wouldn't work out otherwise.

"Big arms." Sam noted. "W-Well um-" he cleared his throat, attempting to be subtle in the way he flexed his flab arm, "I just added some new additions to the car. Added that light bulb there…" he flab-flexed again. "And that disco ball on the window. The light reflects off it like normal… disco balls..." He trailed off.

Michaela blinked once and nodded, "Cool."

About three things I was absolutely certain. First, Sam was making good progress in this conversation, kind of-ish. Second, he had some gum stuck in his hair that I strategically placed earlier today. And third, I smelled like corn chips. My stomach is growling so much I maybe consume myself if the matter is not resolved.

Clearing her throat, Michaela looked over Sam's face, "Are you uh, are you new to school this year? Is this your first year?" " She asked. This conversation, I have determined, has taken a turn for the unfortunate. I shall commence my text to the nearest funeral home to make a memorial service for Sam's dignity and dreams.

"No actually we've gone to the same school since… first grade." Sam nodded awkwardly.  
"Really?" Michaela blinked rapidly. "No way."

"Yeah, long time." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He'd break it in half if he had more than just bone and fat on his arm.

"Did we have any classes together?" she frowned.  
"Oh yeah. Uh- History. Language Arts. Math…" seeing that she wasn't remembering at all and trying not to show how heart breaking that was, Sam sighed, "You might know my friend?"

She tilted her head. "Friend?"

"Nicole. Nicole Cater?" he asked. That is I. I am Nicole. Shall I show her my face to remind her? I'm sure now would be the best time as ever for me to strike an appearance? I just need to sit up- Eh no; I'm not feeling in the mood to sit up. My lazy teenage tendencies are kicking in at maximum overdrive and there is nothing I can do to stop them.

"Oh! The senior from two years ago that hung Jimmy Falco from the flag pole." She paused, (Jimmy Falco was a traitor and a scoundrel! His suffering would not be swift!)"You're Sam!" she said, recognition kind of flashing across her face but she might have just really needed to burp too but didn't want to be rude, "You're the guy she always messed with." (I never messed with him. I just slipped a packet of ants into his bag when I felt he needed something to ruin his day cause he was having too good of one.)

His grip tightened across the steering wheel, "Yup. That's me." I think he was upset that she only recognized him through me, but who doesn't do that? If I didn't pick on him Sam would just be another face in the crowd. A face within the faceless. A Samless face. FaSaLess.

….I am really hungry.

"Sam Witkiki." Mikaela smiled.

"...Witwicky." he corrected.

Mikael smiled nervously, her face growing a little pale, "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't- I just didn't recognize you." (It's understandable. He never sticks out. He blends. He blends like a blend stick. A twig blend stick- GAH! I am sooo hungry!) I moved to munch on the seat.

"Nah. It's cool. Its understandable." he played it off quickly, wishing nothing more than to go home, crawl under his bed and die there.

Suddenly, the key to the engine turned and the car shot to a stop right as I tug my teeth deep into the Leather. (...Wasn't me! Was probably me… yeah it was me.)

Freezing, Sam began to panic, "Oh no. no no." he pleaded with the car, hoping it was some sort of joke. "I'm so sorry. It's a new car, still working out the bugs and uh-" Then, the romantic music began to play from the radio.

Ooooh, aiming for romance? Car-mance?

...This seat smells like oranges. What the- what is happening right now?

Sam paled when Michaela bit her lip angrily. "I-I swear this isn't me. The R-Radio's been messed up for a while and uh… uh…." He pleaded, scrambling wildly to shut off the music.

She huffed heatedly, "Just pop the hood." She commanded, kicking the door open. Startled, he licked his lips, kicking the radio a few times.

"Shut up. Shut up shut up." He commanded furiously pressing the button. Watching the hood pop open he slithered out of the seat to watch Michaela lift the hood up high over her head and look down to the engine.

Taking that as my chance I sat up and reached towards the front seat to scavenge for any sort of snacks. Curse Sam! He hadn't had this car long enough to secretly pack it full of travel goodies. Didn't even have mints yet! What sort of car doesn't have freshly stocked mints?!

Throwing myself back into the back seat, I listened to Michaela talk about Sam's car. "Whoa nice headers…" she breathed. "You got a high-rise double pump Carbonator. That's-" she shook her head, "That's pretty impressive Sam."

My semi has a similar engine, which is weird for a Semi. It makes it a Semi on steroids.

Sam didn't fully understand the praise, "Double pump?"

"It squirts the fuel in so you can go faster."

"Ohh." his eyes trailed down her chest to her stomach, "I.. I like to go faster…"

I balked. Sam. No.

"Seems your distributor cap is a little loose." Michaela announced

Sam blinked, regaining a bit of his focus, "Yeah? How did you know that?"

"My Dad. He was uh- he was a real grease monkey." She shrugged, "Taught me all about this. I could take it apart and put it together again."

Her Dad also stole those cars. Even tried to steal from my old man! My dad dropped kicked him like a sack of potatoes. He's got ears like a bat and eyes like a hawk. He can just sense people walking into his lot without permission and was on the boy like mustard on a hot dog.

I'd never seen him hog-tie anyone so quickly before.

"That's weird, I just wouldn't peg you for mechanical." I could just feel his heart fluttering like some middle school girl. He rose to press his face to the top of the hood, away from her vision. "Oh my gosh…" he mouthed to himself

"Well you know I don't really broadcast it." Michaela chuckled, "Guys don't really like it when you know more about cars than they do. Especially not Trent. He hates it."

"Oh well, I'm not that kind of guy." He told her, "I think it is cool and you are cool- oh but um- like super cool. And pretty- I don't mean that in a weird way though!" He stammered, "Cause obviously you are a very beautiful girl which you know, and when I say that I don't mean you know you're into mean jerks way but you know-" he kicked himself. "...Yeah."

Blinking a few times, Michaela glanced around, "You know I think… I think I'm just gonna walk." She sighs. "Good luck with your car." Moving around him she grabbed her bag and started back down the roads.

"Yeah…" Sam looked like his heart was sinking, "Walking is healthy-" he slammed the hood close and made a break for the drivers seat. "C'mon please please please. You gotta work for me right now. Come on please." Sam pleaded, turning the key in a desperate attempt to start the engine.

"Smooth butter fingers." I rose from the back seat like a mummy. Shrieking, Sam threw himself to the side, ramming against the door.  
"W-WHEN DID YOU GET THERE?!"

"I told you, I was gonna take a nap in the back.' I yawned, leaning against the passenger seat. "It was like sleeping on the dreams of wimpy teenagers. Very satisfying."

"Are you- Ugh!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, "How much of that did you hear?" He demanded.

"Every word." I reached into my shirt, gasping when I pulled out a potato chip. I had this in there?! "Oh sweet!" I plopped it in my mouth.

"Ew." he held back a gag.

I licked my fingers, "You know, I know you don't want to be put in the friend zone, cause who wants to be there when they are trying to _get it on-"_

"Please don't say that."

"-But perhaps you should try to at least aim for friend zone first and not make any weird comments about her body. Try saying something casual; You like dogs. You are great at history. You just go this car. Your Mom puts 'bling' on your dog. Perhaps even subtly mention that your parents are part of the mile high club."

"I'm gonna throw up." Sam covered his mouth.

"Or, I dunno, stare at just her eyes for longer than 10 seconds and not everything below like a crepe. Just a suggestion."

"You mean a creep?"

"Don't tell me what I don't know Sam. Speak well I English."

"I-you- I don't have time for you right now!" he yelled, attempting to start the car again. Finally getting the engine to reeve to life, Sam cheered, throwing it into reverse. Turning, he put it back into drive and drove next to Michaela. "HEY!" he called. "Wait a second- you!" he whipped around to point at me, "Get down."

"Aww come on." I smirked.  
"Nicole." He growls.

Shrugging, I fell back, ducking behind the seats, unseen by all. A ninja in the night-day-car-thing… whatever.

"Michaela wait!" Sam called.

Unable to stop her smile, Michaela glanced in through the window, unable to see Nicole.

"Please. I'm sorry." Sam pleaded with her. "No more talk of boy friends or what not. Just… two friends?"

Michaela considered that, nodded, and got in. "So what are your hobbies Sam?" she inquired as he turned back to the road and started towards her house.

"Oh uh… history." he nodded to himself a few times. 'Nothing… impressive." (nerd.)

"History." she bit her lip at that, "Like, what do you mean?"  
"Just old stuff I guess. Books, objects. When I see an old box I just can't stop myself from wanting to go through it." he gave her a nervous smile.

She smiled back, and I thought I saw a bit of hope for these two yet.

 **000-000**

I almost fell asleep in the back of Sam's car by the time we got back to Michaela's house. Finally!

"There it is." Sam motioned to her house.

"I had fun." Michaela said honestly, as if shocked that she found this true. "Thanks for listening."

Sam nodded numbly, tapping the steering wheel nervously. "Well. Yeah."

Blinking at him, Michaela lowered her gaze, "Y-You… You think I'm shallow, huh?" she inquired softly.

"Wha-?" Sam coughed, too shocked from the question. "No! Not at all." he said. "I just-" he blushed when she looked him dead in the eyes. "I think- that you know- um… I think there is more to you than meets the eye."

Daw~

"Okay." Michaela chuckled. "I'll uh...see ya at school?"  
"Of course." he nodded. He watched her turn around and head up the steps to her porch. When she was out of hearing range, he began to curse himself, "That was a stupid line." he scolded, " _More than meets the eye._ So stupid." Freezing when Michaela looked back at him, his breathing stopped when she smiled and waved before going back into her house. "...Oh god." he put a hand to his chest. The grin on his face wouldn't go away. "I love my car." he patted the wheel affectionately.

"Dude." I stuck my first forward. "Pound it."

Sam whipped around to bump his fist against mine. "Oh yeah!" He paused, "And uh, thanks, you know for uh… being quiet."

Pulling myself to the front seat I waved it off, "No problem. And hey- look at you Mr. sly-" I nudged him. "She learned your name."  
"She knows my name." He giggled.

"I'm so proud."

"And I mean, I never could have done this without the car. What a great car."

"Yeah yeah." I folded her arms.  
"I'm gonna wash it. And fix it up-"  
"Yeah that is great-"  
Sam gushed, "Get some new tires for it. Take it everywhere-"

"Sam." I gripped his shoulders, "I am super jazzed about this emotional breakthrough you are apparently having but I have not eaten for 9 hours and if I don't get food in my stomach soon I will eat you."

He paled, fumbling to put the car into reverse and get us out of there, "O-Oh. Right. Okay sure."

Thus we travelled to McDonalds where we pestered the drive through guy for 50 sandwiches, only to tell him we only wanted 2 when we got up to the window. Needless to say, he was not a happy camper.

"When do you have to be home Sam?" I inquired through my burger.

"11."

"Cool, great, we gotta stop at John Frenzen's house before you head home." I nod. I hate John Frenzen. Know it all with bucked teeth and a weird obsession with picking on freshman just because he is older. Didn't like those kinds of people. If you go after someone, you do it because you honestly and legitimately don't like them cause they did you wrong, not because you think they are lesser than yourself because you are older or richer.

"Why?"  
"My skateboard is at his house."

"I thought you sold him your skateboard." Sam inquired

"Yeah I totally did." I agree.

"Then why are we going there for your skateboard? Do you want it back?"

"Course I do. That guy won't appreciate the true craft of that board- the way it flies down the road, turning with the elegance of an eagle on drugs." I extended out my hands.

"I can't say if that is impressive of horrible."

"Perhaps both Samuel." I said spiritually, "Perhaps both. But we gotta go and pick it up."

"Why don't you just go do that tomorrow in your own time? I'm not a taxi." he huffed.

"Uh, because I could have totally ruined your little one on one time with Michaela, but through the kindness of my heart I didn't so hop to it." I wiggle my fingers.

Sighing heavily he did as he was told.

Turning into the street of the despised John Frenzen 15 minutes later, Sam parked the car on the side, "Okay there it is." He motioned to John's house.

"I'm going in." Hoping out, I rolled into the yard, worming my way up to the porch. Sam watched from his car, expression of pure regret to being there.

Rummaging through the many bikes lined up along the porch, I spotted my skateboard. Tipping my hat in greeting to it, I pulled out a sack of pebbles, slipping it into the place of the skateboard to avoid being detected.

Sam was mouthing at me, "What the hell are you doing? This isn't Indiana Jones!"  
I moved off the porch, running in zig zagged motions across the yard, dodging imaginary arrows and flipping over the mailbox. "Go Go!" I screamed, diving through the car window.

"Nicole!" Sam snapped, stepping on the gas, my legs still half way out the window.

It wasn't until we were a few blocks away that he slammed on the breaks and yanked me inside to yell, ""What the hell was that about?"  
"Retrieval of something that had no business there." I say lifting up the skateboard like Link from Zelda would do when he gained a new item. Dododododododdodo dododod dododod DO DO DO DOOOOO!

"You sold it to him just to take it back? Isn't that stealing?" He questioned.  
"Selling something just to reclaim it later could be considered not only stealing, but highly profitable." I smile. "So, yes. Yes I did."

"You're horrible."  
"Horrible is just another word for righteous."

"No it isn't. Those two words are in no way similar to each other."

"Little minds just can't see the equivalence."

"And this is why my Mom is worried about me hanging out with you." He sighed.  
"If that is what she thinks she shouldn't have texted me today." I laugh.

"I don't even know why she did. I think she would prefer you be my friend over the other."

"And what exactly is the other?" I inquired. There was a pause between us.

"I don't know." He admits, "A bully?"

I glanced at him, "Is that what you thought I was?"

"Wedgies, public humiliation done by your hand, constant mocking, hitting me with a bike. Those are all considered bullying." He agreed heavily.

I had never considered it like that, "But dude I was totally kidding,"

"Nothing about that was taken as a joke." he grumbled.

I struggled to fathom this, but the words were hard to swallow, "Is that how you took them? Did you think I was bullying you then because I thought I was better than you?"

He opened and closed his palm against the steering wheel, "You always think you are better than me." He mumbled, "You're more popular, more open, every guy at school had there eyes on you at least at some point-" that sounded more like he thought I was better than him instead of the other way around, but I wouldn't cut him off to point that out, "But I didn't always think that you were bullying me. Only sometimes."

"What about the others times?" I'm curious at this point. "What was I to you in the others times?"

He struggled, "I dunno." He grumbled, "...A pushy sister?"

"Samuel!" I gasp out, touched.

"Don't touch me!" He screamed as I reached across the seat to pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

"But…" I frown, "I never meant to bully you, I swear. I thought it was all in good fun."

"I know." he nods.


End file.
